


Lovingly Stitched Together

by Spiderlily_Writes



Series: Tailor-made for each other [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Love at First Sight, Modern AU, Tailor Shop, This was such a cute idea and I couldn't get it out of my head, based on art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: "A seam, in sewing, is where two pieces of fabric are brought together by thread."Marianne has a torn dress and an irritated father. Hilda has a needle and thread and an ear to bend.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Series: Tailor-made for each other [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830265
Comments: 14
Kudos: 162





	Lovingly Stitched Together

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a [bit of fanart](https://twitter.com/mamirato/status/1276579904067338242?s=20) by [@mamirato](https://twitter.com/mamirato) on twitter. Thank you so much for reading, thanks to [tansy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells) for beta reading, and thanks to mamirato for letting me turn it into a fic, go show some love!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Hilda’s fingernail clicks against the old, hard wood of the counter inside  _ Goneril Tailors _ , keeping time with the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. It’s two thirty in the afternoon, and Hilda is watching the seconds pass, hoping against hope that, somehow, doing so will make five o’clock come sooner. Holst had bullied her into taking his shift at the shop that night so he could go out with some friends, and her father was out of town, so it’s just her, and her thoughts, and a boring, empty shop. 

She supposes she could go reorganize the tools, take stock of the fabric and spare materials, or clean the backroom. She could do any one of those things, but she’s not going to, because the boredom that has settled around her shoulders and pinned her elbows down to the counter and her chin to her hands is the kind of boredom that makes it nigh-impossible to do anything at all. She’s so bored she could die. 

Hilda groans, the sound coming out somewhere between a growl and a pouting whimper that echoes around the musty old shop. She’s been there since eight o’clock and she’s had exactly  _ one _ customer, a guy needing a pair of pants hemmed, and that only took her like  _ ten minutes _ . If someone absolutely had to bother her, would it  _ kill _ them to make it something interesting? She has to wonder how her father even makes enough money off of this godforsaken shop to keep it open.

The little bell above the door rings its tinkling little ring, signalling that a customer has come in, and she snaps straight up, nearly falling over in the process. If it’s her father or one of her father’s friends, she’d be dead for slacking off, but it’s not. A tall, imposing man walks in the door, and the first thing Hilda thinks when she looks at him is that he’s  _ really scary _ , and if looks could kill, the one on his face would wipe out every living thing in a five mile radius.

“W-welcome to Goneril Tailors, I’m Hilda, how can I help you?” she yelps, smoothing out her outfit as best she can without being too obvious.

And then she looks behind him and she thinks for a second that his look really  _ did _ kill her because an angel has definitely come to bear her away to heaven. 

But no, it’s just a young woman, albeit a gorgeous one. She’s shorter than the man, but then, that wouldn’t be hard. She looks nervous, like she would rather be anywhere but here, and doing anything else but this, and her face has the slight pink tinge to it of someone who’s just been caught doing something they shouldn’t, and she seems like she’s trying to just melt into her soft blue turtleneck and never come back out. Hilda immediately feels sorry for her. She falls in love too, obviously, because it’s a really pretty girl, but she feels sorry for her. Hilda can’t imagine a man like him and a girl like her would get along well.

“My daughter…” the man begins, saying the words in the same tone that he might use for the phrases ‘tax audit’ or ‘labor union’, “ _ ripped _ her ballgown this morning. It’s absolutely ridiculous, and I don’t know how she managed it.”

His daughter steps forward, and Hilda sees she’s carrying a rich purple bundle of cloth that she presumes is the aforementioned ballgown. “Umm…” she says, and Hilda knows she would listen to this girl read the phone book out loud if it meant she could hear her talk all day, “...could you perhaps fix my dress? I-if it’s not too much trouble.”

The older man snorts. “Of course it’s trouble. I have half a mind to believe you ripped it on purpose so you wouldn’t have to go to Pinelli's tonight. But we’re going to get it taken care of.”

His daughter’s blush deepens, and she looks down at the floor, refusing to meet Hilda’s eyes. Hilda swallows the impulse to have at the man with a seam ripper. Instead, she comes around the counter and approaches the girl, putting a hand on the cloth and gently lifting it out of her hands. The girl lets it go and Hilda turns around, setting it on the counter. She fixes the tall man with her most bubbly and cheerful smile.

“I think I can do it! But I’ll need you to leave her here with me for a while so I can put it on her and make some quick alterations to keep it from tearing again. Would that be okay?” she asks, in her very best customer service voice. The man nods, looking relieved, though it doesn’t really make him less scary looking. 

“If Marianne gives you any trouble, you let me know, understood?” he asks. “I’ll pay whatever it costs, just get the dress in shape by five o’clock. She absolutely cannot arrive at the engagement party any later than seven, and she has hair and makeup to attend to. Is that enough time?”

Hilda feels her smile falter. Five? She was hoping to be out of here at five on the nose and that’s going to make it difficult, but she looks at Marianne, who mouths a silent apology at her. She nods, and reassures the man. “Of course, it should be no trouble, as long as the damage isn’t too extensive. I’ll call you as soon as we’re finished, mister…?”

“Edmund.”

“Right, Mister Edmund. You go do whatever pleases you for the next couple of hours, and we’ll give you a call as soon as we’re done.”

“Very good. Behave, Marianne, and do whatever this Miss Goneril tells you to do. I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and Hilda has to make an effort not to roll her eyes. This girl looks like she has never not behaved in her life.

Mister Edmund turns on his heel and marches out of the shop, practically slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t even wait for Marianne to tell him goodbye, which gives Hilda yet another delightful insight into what she is sure is a wonderful relationship.

Hilda turns back to Marianne, who looks like she’s about to start crying, and Hilda can’t think of anything in the world she would like to see less than Marianne crying. She reaches down and takes her hands in her own, lifting them up and causing Marianne to meet her eye, finally. 

“Hey, relax! You’re in great hands! These!” She wiggles her fingers, tickling Marianne’s palms and drawing an awkward giggle from her. Good, it’s a start.

She drops Marianne’s hands and turns around, grabbing the dress and gesturing for Marianne to follow her. “Come on, step into my domain and watch how a pro gets it done.” Hilda flips the ‘open’ sign on the door to ‘closed’ and takes Marianne back into the shop itself.

Once they get there, Hilda lays the dress out on the table in the back so she can inspect it more carefully. It’s a beautiful dusky purple affair that had likely cost more money than most of her customers had ever seen, and she can’t help but feel a little jealous. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and she feels as though Marianne probably looks absolutely radiant in it.

“So, care to save me a little time and point out where the rips are? I’ll look over it to see if there’s any you missed, but we might as well start with the most obvious ones.”

Marianne steps forward and drags her finger down the left side of the dress, right under where her arm would be. “There’s one here…” she says, then gestures to the other side, in the same spot. “One right here.” She flips the bodice to show Hilda the back. “And right here,” she says, pointing to a tear that would land on the small of the back. Hilda nods, making a mental note of those three, then moves to inspect the rest of the garment.

“Ah, Miss Goneril-”

“Hilda, please,” she interrupts, not looking away from the dress.

“Miss Hilda, I completely understand if it’s too much for you to fix, you needn’t worry about my father. I know it’s last minute and...well...I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Okay, first off,” Hilda lays the dress back down on the table, having found no further rips, “not Miss Hilda, just Hilda, you’re like, the same age as me. Second, I can absolutely do this, it’s not even a problem. It might take me forty-five minutes once I get started, at most. Just let me do my thing, okay?” she asks, smiling in what she hopes is a reassuring way. Marianne nods, folding her hands in front of her and looking around the room, clearly trying to avoid looking at Hilda or the dress.

“If there’s anything I can do, please just let me know,” she says, anxiety still tingeing her words.

Hilda retrieves a toolbox of supplies for doing hand repairs and pulls up a stool to the table so she can sit down. She points to another one and says, “Pull up a chair; talk to me while I work. That’s what you can do. I hate quiet.”

Marianne does as instructed. “So...how long have you been in the business?” she asks.

Hilda starts working on the first tear, poking and prodding it with her fingers, trying to feel out the best way to close it. “Since I was like, twelve. I’ve always liked making stuff, so Dad put me to work in the shop pretty much as soon as he could trust me not to poke my eyes out. I’m twenty-two now, sooo...I dunno, I’m bad at math.” She waves her free hand at Marianne dismissively, getting another laugh out of her. “My turn. What’s the party you’re going to all about?”

The other girl groans, and Hilda cocks an eyebrow. “It’s an engagement party. Have you ever met Leonie Pinelli?”

“Can’t say I have, but I’ve heard the name. She’s like, sports or something, right?” Marianne laughs again, and Hilda can see the tension starting to melt off her. Good.

“Yes, she is ‘sports or something’. That’s about all you need to know. She’s getting engaged, and she’s making an event of it, and I received an invitation. So I have to go, or it’s going to offend people and make my father look bad.” Marianne sighs too heavily for someone who just wants to avoid a boring party. Hilda would know, she’s been there.

“You don’t want to go,” she says, stating it as a fact. Marianne shifts uncomfortably in her chair. 

“She’s...my ex-girlfriend,” she admits with a sigh. Hilda immediately writes a mental note that reads ‘gay’, and files it away in her brain. She notices something about the tear she’s mending at the moment, and files that away too.

“Okay, so you don’t want to go because she’s your ex-girlfriend and she’s getting engaged. I can see where that would maybe be a problem.”

Marianne remains silent.

“I hope you’re not too mad at me for fixing this dress. Would have made for a pretty convenient excuse for you to not go. But, word to the wise. You’re lucky your dad doesn’t know jack-shit about fabric, because it’s pretty obvious these tears were made by hand.”

Hilda casts a sly glance at Marianne, who looks up at her, panicked and beet-red. “I-I don’t know what you’re-”

“Shush. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell him. Just be more careful about that kind of thing in the future.”

Marianne relaxes a little bit and looks at her guiltily. “I’m sorry, Hilda. It was a silly, childish thing for me to do.”

“Again, shush. I’m getting paid to sit here and talk to a pretty girl while I fix some really easy rips. You haven’t done me dirty at  _ all _ .” Hilda decides to gamble, and winks at Marianne, who coughs and changes the subject.

“S-so, you said you’re going to do some alterations when you’re done?” she asked, and Hilda nods.

“Yeah, I want to make sure you look as good as possible if you’re going to have to show up at your ex’s engagement party. Really knock 'em dead. Is that okay with you?” 

Marianne smiles softly.

“Yes, I think that would be just fine. Thank you.”

“Great!” Hilda works in silence for a few minutes while Marianne watches her, silently, as though mesmerised. She thinks she catches the other girl watching her face instead of her hands a few times, but it’s only for a second, so she could be mistaken. Hilda finishes up on the tears and turns the gown right-side out, admiring her work. “What do you think, Mari? Can I call you Mari?”

“You certainly can,” Marianne says, looking the ballgown over with a critical eye. “I can’t even tell it was ever torn.”

“I told you, Marianne, I’m a professional.”

“I can see that! So, now what?”

Hilda thrusts the garment out toward her. “There’s a changing room over there in the corner, go put it on and come out so I can see it. I want to make sure the mends will hold up when you’re wearing it.”

Marianne nods and takes it, standing up from the stool and scurrying off to the curtained changing area. Hilda tries very hard not to think about Marianne behind that barrier, and waits patiently for her to emerge.

When she does, stepping up onto a low pedestal in front of a mirror, Hilda looks her up and down once, and has a very hard time keeping herself from staring. She’s seen some beautiful women in her time, and some beautiful dresses, but  _ this  _ woman and  _ this  _ dress in particular are enough to make her heart beat faster and her face go red. 

_ Marianne, you are beautiful and radiant and I would walk barefoot over a mile of broken glass just to have a chance to see you through a pair of binoculars,  _ she says in her head. 

“Oh. Oh, that’s very good,” she says out loud.

The dress is a perfect fit for Marianne, clinging and flaring to perfectly accentuate her curves in a way that makes it difficult for Hilda to pull her eyes away. It stops just below her shoulders, supported by loops that settle around the upper arms, and the bodice leaves bare just enough of Marianne’s collarbone and the top of her chest to be proper, also letting Hilda see her upper back as she turns around in a slow circle. She takes in the perfect, soft skin there, trying to keep herself from growing too flustered at the sight, trying not to think of how much she would love to run her hands along it, how much she’d like to kiss-

_ Okay, no, down girl _ , Hilda thinks, berating herself internally.  _ Not the time or place _ . 

Anyways, there’s a subtle but equally gorgeous trim that runs around the top of the dress, which itself gives the appearance of being folded down to reveal a slightly brighter shade and draws the eye, which is a little frustrating since Hilda is trying to keep herself on task and not collapse into a frustrated sapphic puddle on the floor of the shop. Where the ‘fold’ creases to a v-shape on the front of the dress, there are a few little rhinestones that do an excellent job of accenting the look as a whole.

The skirts flare out enough at the bottom just enough that it would get on Hilda’s nerves to wear, but she supposes if it works for Marianne, that’s what matters the most. She’s thinking about what improvements she could possibly make, but none stand out immediately.

“Umm...Hilda?” Marianne asks, snapping her out of her reverie. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, totally, fine, completely,” she replies, giving a wink and a double thumbs-up. “I’m just trying to decide if there’s even anything I can do here. You look...stunning, Marianne, really. I see a lot of ‘pretty’ in my line of work but you absolutely take the cake.”

Marianne flushes. “You don’t have to exaggerate, Hilda. I know it looks okay, but-”

“Nope! Nuh-uh, absolutely not, you are not going to stand up there on a  _ literal _ pedestal and denigrate your appearance, I will not have it,” Hilda interrupts, huffing. “Is there anything you would change about it? Anything that doesn’t do it for you?”

“Well…” she says, thinking about it for a moment. “It’s a little loose in the back, is there any way you could make it just a little bit...less...loose? I keep feeling like it’s going to slip off me.”

“Oh, yeah, I can totally do that. You’d probably be fine, by the way, those loops around your arms are able to do a surprising amount of work, but you’ll feel a little more confident if I do, I think.”

Hilda approaches the pedestal and has Marianne turn around to face the mirror so she can get at her back a little easier. She flicks the measuring tape from around her neck and moves her hands up to start figuring out exactly what to take in, then stops with her hands mere inches away from Marianne’s back.

“Hey, uh...Mari. Is it okay if I touch you?” she asks. She doesn’t usually need to ask her clients, it’s just sort of an assumption that she will, and she’s always very careful not to do anything that would make them uncomfortable, but for some reason, she feels the need to ask Marianne.

“Oh, of course. Of course you can,” Marianne says, clearly a little flustered herself. Okay, so both of them feel a little awkward, not just Hilda. That makes her feel a little bit better. Hilda places her hands across the top of the dress, pressing gently on Marianne’s back and measuring with her tape, taking note of the spots she’ll need to change. 

She does the same again, moving one hand to the top of the dress and pinning it there, along with the tape. She sees the back of Marianne’s neck, sees where the hair is pinned up there, sees the spot where hair meets skin, and has to stop herself from reaching out and slowly dragging a finger down her spine. Her thumb touches Marianne’s bare back and she swears she feels electricity, a jolt, she almost drops the measuring tape and she sees Marianne flinch, too. She’s breathing heavy, Hilda can see and feel the rise and fall of her back and she swears her heart is beating in time with it.

Marianne’s holding so much tension in her back it looks like she might snap, and Hilda isn’t sure what to do, so she reaches up and places her hands ever so gently on Marianne’s shoulders, pressing downward. 

“Relax, Marianne,” Hilda says quietly, trying to calm her down, trying to keep her own tone even, trying to ignore the way her stomach flips when her hands land on Marianne’s bare shoulders. Why is she feeling like this? What on earth is happening? “You’re tensing up really hard and it’s going to throw off my measurements.”

Marianne takes a deep breath and exhales, letting the tension drop. “I’m sorry, Hilda, I’m just…”

“No, no it’s okay, I understand. Me too.”

They both take a moment to collect their thoughts and wits and Hilda grabs the last measurement she needs without fanfare. She sighs deep, hard, and Marianne notices. She turns her head just a quarter to the left, almost enough to look at Hilda. “I-is everything alright?” she asks, quietly.

“You’re perfect,” Hilda mutters reverently, then hurriedly covers it up. “The dress, it’s...it’s perfect, it fits really well.”

She sees Marianne’s smile in the mirror, and just like that, her heart is struck through. It’s over for her. Head over heels, tumbling downward, falling for that smile that she knows she would do anything in the world to see again. Her heart is pounding like a jackhammer, and her throat is dry, and she says the only thing that comes to mind.

“Say, uh, Marianne. Do you have a date for this ball tonight?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! Feel free to come find me [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite) on twitter or comment below if you would like to share your thoughts!


End file.
